


First Contact

by mantisbelle



Series: Reduced Polarities [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Red Team Locus, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantisbelle/pseuds/mantisbelle
Summary: The last person Wash expects to see out of armor is Locus, never mind seeing him out of armor, sitting on a couch, and watching old home movies.





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally just supposed to be 800 words or so, and was based off of a tumblr prompt, which can be read below. Whoever you are anon, I hope you like this, and thank you for the prompt!
> 
> Anonymous said: Prompt idea: Angsty Locington movie night?

Wash woke up on the fringes of a memory that was not his own, drenched in cold sweat and with his heart pounding against his chest. He wished that he could say that he was used to it, that the passage of time had been able to heal some of the wounds from a bad AI implantation, but that wasn’t the case.

Over on their respective bunks, the blues were still sleeping, Carolina included. Normally the two of them would have waited this out together but...

Well, he didn’t want to be rude and wake anyone up.

Wash forced himself to get up, rubbing at his eyes as he slipped on a pair of socks before making the trek out so that he could get a glass of water, and maybe just calm himself down.

Almost as soon as he stepped out of the room, Wash stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the quiet sound of a television playing. Was someone up? He couldn’t imagine that any of the reds were up and out of bed. Despite everything, Sarge managed to run a pretty tight ship, Grif couldn’t be caught dead out of bed in the night hours, Simmons would occupy himself quietly and Donut...

Well, he’d walked in on Donut and Lopez watching telenovelas once or twice, but Wash knew that such viewings were reserved for daylight hours. Almost always over a glass of wine or two.

So in his exhaustion-induced haze, Wash couldn’t think of a single candidate that could have been watching TV at... a quick look at the clock told him that it was three in the morning. Damn, it was going to be a _very_ long day.

He followed the sound though, and was eventually able to make out the soft glow of the television, and the hooded head and shoulders of someone that he had never seen before.

The sight of a helmet resting beside the television set, with cables running out of it, told him everything.

“Locus?” Wash asked, because the least that he could do was try and get a response.

The man on the couch jolted, turning his head just enough so that he could see Washington out of the corner of his eye. With the hood in the way, Wash wasn’t able to get a good look at him, though. There was some curiosity about it though, Wash realized. He’d never seen Locus out of armor over the course of the entire time that they’d known each other.

With the federal army the mercenary had been famously reclusive, staying in private quarters far out of the way from where anyone could see him, and tended to have his meals alone. In hindsight, Wash realized that there was probably a reason for it, but now he had to wonder how much of that had to do with Locus himself and not just _orders_.

It made him think back to his own youth, to being prodded and teased by York, Carolina and North about how he always wore his helmet even when he didn’t have to. He wondered whether Locus had ever figured out how to eat from inside of his helmet. Probably, but it wasn’t worth asking, was it?

“Agent Washington.” Locus greeted him, his voice coming off even less threatening than it ever had. “You’re up late.”

“So are you.” Wash replied, looking up at the tv and watching as three people that were partially out of armor poked at food over a fire pit. Judging on the footage source, it had been taken from Locus’ helmet cam. One of the voices matched Felix’s, but Wash couldn’t recognize or place the other two, a man and a woman, both wearing violet.

Locus looked back to the television and sighed, getting up so that he could disconnect the cables and cut the video out. It went silent just as Felix has opened his mouth to say something, and Wash could make out the words “ _broken fucking brain”_ on the man’s lips.

It made Wash’s stomach flip, but he didn’t let his worry show. Or his discomfort at the realization of what he was seeing.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Locus admitted quietly, taking his helmet up in his arms and holding it with a sort of gentleness that was unlike anything that Wash had seen before from the man. “I would assume the same from you.”

Wash blinked. “That’s correct.” He said finally, his gaze drifting over to the couch and how large it was. Maybe sitting up and talking wouldn’t be so bad, especially seeing as Locus didn’t seem to be feeling great about things himself. “Do you mind me joining you?”

Locus froze and finally turned to face Wash, and while Wash didn’t know what he should have expected to see, he still felt surprised. Somehow imagining a face behind that skull-like helmet had never stopped being difficult.

Wash couldn’t be prepared for earthy brown skin, or wide grey eyes that managed to be as soft as they were cold at the same time, or the scars that crossed Locus’ face. And somehow, it all made sense. It looked right.

“If you must.” Locus finally mumbled, seating himself on the couch and not looking over at Wash directly. It was like whatever semblance of confidence that Locus wore in armor was left behind with it. “I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

Wash plodded his way over to the couch and dropped down onto it beside Locus. “Something to do, mostly.” He said quietly. “And maybe a chance to talk.”

Locus was staring at him like he had two heads. Surprised. “Talk.”

“Yes.” Wash put on his most reassuring smile he could. “You wanted to talk so much back on Chorus, I figure it would be nice to actually do that off a battlefield.”

Something dark seemed to flit over Locus’ expression, his features shifting and flattening into a frown that vaguely reminded Wash of a bulldog. Chorus was a sore subject, it seemed. It only made sense that it would be that way, but Locus couldn’t ignore it forever (regardless of whether or not he was actually ignoring it- so far, Wash had mostly seen avoidance of the topic.)

“Right.” Locus sighed, still keeping his eyes away from Washington. “What about it?”

Wash found himself briefly reminded of how conversations with Maine tended to go before his injury had happened. Maine had never had much to say, and while Locus was marginally more talkative than Maine was, Wash figured that it was going to be up to him to carry this conversation. A twinge in his neck reminded how close he’d come to being like Maine on the physical level. This could be worse.

“Do you have trouble sleeping often?” Wash asked, because that was the easiest thing that they could talk about. He could also relate, and that was important.

Locus nodded slowly, still grimacing. “I do.” He said finally. “Normally I don’t…” He glanced over at the tv like that would communicate everything that needed to be said. “Normally I stay in bed and wait.”

“Getting used to being here, then?” Washington wondered out loud. Locus had only reappeared back in their lives about a month before, and had still managed to keep his reclusive ways. Wash suspected that the man had been sleeping in his helmet, because if Locus had taken the damn thing off, one of the reds would have probably slipped up and said something.

Locus stared off into space before finally shrugging, although he was tense. Too tense. “I suppose.” He mumbled. “It’s… different.”

“Trust me when I say that you’ll get used to it.” Wash chuckled, finally feeling himself begin to calm down at least slightly. “It just takes time.”

“I suppose.” Locus replied, his face frozen in that frown of his. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“What, be here?”

“Be better.”

And that was a change in topic that Wash hadn’t been ready for it. On some level he could understand it, Locus thinking of this as some sort of way to improve past crimes that nobody was going to let him forget (let alone himself,) after all, it had been that way for Wash and Carolina. Being with the Reds and Blues took time to get used to, and Wash _still_ wasn’t completely used to the nonsense.

“It just takes time.” Washington said, at a near complete loss for words because really, what else was he supposed to say to that. “I’m sure the Reds want to see you get used to it.”

“They do, I just don’t know that I can.” Locus’ hand rested on top of his helmet, and for the first time Wash realized that there was something different about it. This was Locus’ old helmet, the one with the wide X crossed over the face. Wash watched the side of Locus’ thumb stroke over the green painted X, and wondered what was going on in the man’s head. “They aren’t like anything I’ve ever done before.”

“I know.” Washington said calmly. Finally a good question came to mind, one that he didn’t dare want to leave behind and ignore. “What were you watching before I found you?”

“Old mission log.” Locus snapped, his gaze tearing away from the helmet. “Trying to… make sense of things.”

“So, Felix.” Wash murmured, bringing what he’d seen to light. “That it?’

“Yes.”

Wash hadn’t exactly been expecting that sort of confirmation. “What was he about to say-” he began, weighing the question carefully. “Before I came in.”

Locus didn’t respond, but the sadness settled into his face deeper and deeper. All of the age lines there became exaggerated somehow, along with the scarring that covered Locus’ features. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.” Wash said, picking a hand up so that he could reach out and do something to remind Locus that there was actual support there. Something to ground him in reality. He found himself with his hand hovering several inches away as he thought back to The Purge. He’d only ever seen Felix touch Locus, and now…

Well, he didn’t know whether the gesture would be welcome or not.

“It doesn’t.” Locus replied. “Felix is dead.”

“And yet you’re up late watching old videos.” Washington commented, not sure what it would do. “I understand that… the memories may be hard to deal with. What happened.”

“Do you?”

“More than you know.” It was a battle not to swallow hard and let his own discomfort show. He had to keep himself from thinking about Freelancer, about _Epsilon_ , and Donut, and Maine. He’d had his own sins, and Washington was still fighting them back constantly. “I just want you to realize that there are people here that want to see you do better.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Because you aren’t…” Washington stopped himself, remembering Chorus and some of the things that had happened there. Words that needed to be addressed. “You aren’t a monster, Locus. You’re human.”

Locus went completely silent just like that, and Wash felt a wave of guilt for it. Guilt that he didn’t quite know how to explain. But the man at his side just brought a hand up to push his dark hair away from his face, shaking his head. “That’s the problem.” He finally said, his voice always growling but barely above a whisper. _Vulnerable._

Alarms went off in Wash’s head, telling him that this was _bad_ and that he needed to do something. So finally, he acted, reaching out for Locus and placing a careful hand on the man’s shoulder. He could feel it, the way that Locus immediately tensed and almost startled under his grip.

“Locus.” Washington kept his voice as calm and even as he could. “You’re here.”

“I know.” Locus’ voice was hard, unwavering, but still underneath that there was something else that Wash couldn’t quite identify. Fear, maybe. “It’s just-”

Washington leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Locus’ neck and pulling the taller man in towards him, just a bit closer. Locus was completely stiff under his touch, unsure and afraid. Wash loosened his grip, just slightly. Best not to push it.

“It’s okay.” He finally whispered, though he was surprised that Locus hadn’t yet pulled away or tried to leave. “You’re here. You’re doing your best to be better. It takes time.”

“Agent Washington-”

“It’s okay.” Wash repeated, letting his hand travel to Locus’ back and rubbing gently. Slowly, he could feel the former mercenary relaxing. “Nobody expects it to happen overnight.”

Locus didn’t say anything, just lowered his head into the crook of Wash’s neck as the two of them sat there on the couch. It was so vulnerable, so unsure that Wash didn’t know what to do other than to keep doing what he’d been doing and don’t mention it later. If Locus wanted to talk about this, he would.

Wash’s eyes fell on the helmet that now sat on the table, staring at them with a visor that Wash now saw was cracked, like it had been bashed against something in anger. It was a symbol of so much, things that Locus would never say or voice, fears, anger, frustrations, sorrows. He didn’t want to bring it up, what it meant for Locus to cling to it.

Instead, Wash decided to speak once more. “You should rest.” He mumbled into the other man’s dark hair. “It’s late.”

“I’ll be fine.” Locus replied, pulling away from Wash with an unreadable expression. “Thank you, Agent Washington.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Locus was silent for a long time, but a slight nod was all Wash needed. He settled in further on the couch at Locus’ side and began to tell stories of the Reds and Blues. Locus listened along patiently, not offering stories of his own, but glad for the company nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> No editing we die like men.
> 
> Any and all comments and criticism are greatly appreciated.
> 
> [I'm on tumblr. Sometimes stuff happens. I'm always willing to take new prompts and questions there!](http://tyrian-callows.tumblr.com/)


End file.
